Chapter 4 - The House of Cards Collapses
The fallout was absolute and merciless.
Daniel spent the weekend in a holding cell before his mother could scrape together the cash to bail him out. By Monday morning, he was officially terminated from his job for gross misconduct and violation of corporate ethics.
With no job, no car, and a frozen bank account, Daniel took an Uber to the luxury apartment he had illegally mortgaged our house to furnish, desperate for a shower and a sympathetic ear from Natalie.
But when he keyed into the apartment, it was entirely empty.
Natalie had not just packed her clothes; she had hired movers to clear out the twelve-thousand-dollar velvet sectional, the flat-screen televisions, and every piece of expensive decor Daniel had purchased for her. She left the keys on the kitchen counter next to a sticky note that simply read: I can't be involved in a criminal investigation. Good luck.
She had loved the lifestyle he provided, but the moment the fuel gauge hit empty, she abandoned the car.
Desperate, broken, and finally realizing the magnitude of his absolute ruin, Daniel showed up at our house in the pouring rain. He banged on the front door, shouting my name, begging me to let him in.
I opened the door, perfectly dry, holding a cup of hot tea. I didn't unlock the heavy iron security screen that separated us.
"Claire, please!" Daniel sobbed, water streaming down his face, his expensive suit ruined. "They fired me! Natalie took everything and left! I have nothing! I'm sorry, I was so stupid, please let me come home!"
I looked at the man I had spent twenty years serving. I didn't feel anger anymore. I didn't feel sadness. I just felt a profound, overwhelming sense of freedom.
"You don't have a home here anymore, Daniel," I said, my voice steady and cold. "Eleanor filed the divorce papers this morning. Because of the forgery and the fraud, the judge has already granted me exclusive occupancy of the house. You have a restraining order prohibiting you from coming within five hundred feet of this property."
"Claire, I'm your husband! You can't do this to me!"
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"I didn't do anything to you," I replied, echoing the words I had spoken in the kitchen a month prior. "You did this to yourself the moment you thought I was too blind to notice. The police will be here in three minutes if you don't leave."
I shut the heavy wooden door, locked the deadbolt, and walked back to the kitchen, leaving him weeping on the wet concrete.
